f receiving her little cousin, and hinted that Pierrette would
perhaps inherit twelve thousand francs a year if her brother Jerome did
not marry.

Perhaps it is necessary to have been, like Nebuchadnezzar, something of
a wild beast, and shut up in a cage at the Jardin des Plantes without
other prey than the butcher's meat doled out by the keeper, or a retired
merchant deprived of the joys of tormenting his clerks, to understand
the impatience with which the brother and sister awaited the arrival
of their cousin Lorrain. Three days after the letter had gone, the pair
were already asking themselves when she would get there.

Sylvie perceived in her spurious benevolence towards her poor cousin
a means of recovering her position in the social world of Provins. She
accordingly went to call on Madame Tiphaine, of whose reprobation she
was conscious, in order to impart the fact of Pierrette's approaching
arrival,--deploring the girl's unfortunate position, and posing herself
as being only too happy to succor her and give her a position as
daughter and future heiress.

"You have been rather long in discovering her," said Madame Tiphaine,
with a touch of sarcasm.

A few words said in a low voice by Madame Garceland, while the cards
were being dealt, recalled to the minds of those who heard her the
shameful conduct of old Rogron about the Auffray property; the notary
explained the iniquity.

"Where is the little girl now?" asked Monsieur Tiphaine, politely.

"In Brittany," said Rogron.

"Brittany is a large place," remarked Monsieur Lesourd.

"Her grandfather and grandmother Lorrain wrote to us--when was that, my
dear?" said Rogron addressing his sister.

Sylvie, who was just then asking Madame Garceland where she had bought
the stuff for her gown, answered hastily, without thinking of the effect
of her words:--

"Before we sold the business."

"And have you only just answered the letter, mademoiselle?" asked the
notary.

Sylvie turned as red as a live coal.

"We wrote to the Institution of Saint-Jacques," remarked Rogron.

"That is a sort of hospital or almshouse for old people," said Monsieur
Desfondrilles, who knew Nantes. "She can't be there; they receive no one
under sixty."

"She is there, with her grandmother Lorrain," said Rogron.

"Her mother had a little fortune, the eight thousand francs which your
father--no, I mean of course your grandfather--left to her," said the
notary, making the blunder inte